


Five Kisses

by Savageseraph



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Comfort, Desire, Forbidden Love, Friendship, Gambling, Grief/Mourning, Kissing, Masturbation, Multi, Oaths & Vows, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Relationships: Anders/Female Hawke, Female Hawke/Cullen Rutherford, Female Hawke/Isabela, Female Hawke/Sebastian Vael, Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Five Kisses

**i. Isabela**

Isabela kissed like she dueled and played cards. She kissed to win, and Hawke admired that about her. That and so much more. Like the way the gold stud under Isabela’s lower lip gleamed against the light mocha of her skin. The wicked flash of her smile. The way the soft leather of her boots hugged her legs and thighs. The slashes of the blue fabric of her smallclothes that peeked through the slits in the sides of her white tunic. 

Winning meant that sometimes Isabela used her keen, disarming wit to maneuver Hawke into making the first move. Hawke would end up scattering cards and coins as she tugged Isabela close during a hand of Wicked Grace, the thrill of the game nothing compared to the thrill of feeling Isabela’s lips part for her, of feeling the Rivaini’s arms and spice curl around her, of feeling Isabela shiver when their tongues slid against each other.

Other times, Isabela used her fluid grace to tempt Hawke. A tilt of her head, exposing soft skin as she laughed at one of Varric’s jokes, an arch of her back when they were playing darts that drew attention to her breasts, the sway of her hips that should have had the city guard raiding The Hanged Man it was that illegal. While that strategy held many delights, Hawke knew it was delicate peeks of tongue as Isabela licked ruby drops of wine from her lips that always had Hawke leaning in to claim a taste for herself.

If neither of those tactics worked, Isabela cheated. Hawke would wonder just how many drinks she’d had and what might have been in them only after Isabela had her pressed up against the wall of The Hanged Man, one hand pinning Hawke’s wrists over her head as their bodies rubbed against each other. More surprising to Hawke than how she found herself in this position was her complete lack of shame as Isabela slid her thigh between Hawke’s legs and Hawke’s world narrowed to those soft lips and the desire that drove her body against Isabela’s as she leaned forward to claim them.

Isabela kissed to win, and Hawke discovered that game was one she didn’t mind losing.

**ii. Sebastian**

Sebastian didn’t kiss. At least that’s what he told Hawke when they were pressed together, chest to chest, deep in the shadows of a rock fissure as they hid from a Qunari patrol. If they had to be crushed together in a cramped space, Hawke figured they should at least find an enjoyable way to pass the time. Until Sebastian made it clear his kisses—and other strikingly attractive assets—belonged to Andraste alone.

Such a shame. And not very generous on Andraste’s part, considering she had the Maker Himself to warm her bed. 

Hawke sighed softly, shifted to try to ease the pressure of a rock digging into her back. When she did, she noticed Sebastian’s gaze had gone, for the briefest instant, to her lips. She didn’t smile, even though it was a struggle not to, but she did wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

This time it was Sebastian who sighed.

When  
Hawke knew the latter would be enough to warm her at night, back in her manor, her fingers rubbing and teasing as she chased her own pleasure while imagining Sebastien kneeling in penance in front of her watching and aching and burning brighter than Andraste for her touch. 

For her kiss.

**iii. Cullen**

“You really are remarkable. I hope you know that.” The words tumbled out of Cullen’s mouth in a breathless rush just before he nuzzled at the side of her neck.

Hawke rarely found herself at a loss for words, but Cullen had the knack of catching her off guard. Perhaps that was how their initial suspicion and hostility mellowed--first to an uneasy alliance, then a grudging friendship and respect. Each secret meeting to share information about blood mages and overzealous Templars was rife with risk. Hawke knew theirs was a dangerous dance for an apostate and a Templar, but she told herself they were allies in a battle to keep Kirkwall from erupting in chaos and blood. 

Nothing more.

They couldn’t afford anything more. And yet she found herself tipping her neck to the side to give him more access to skin that tingled in anticipation of his touch. 

“You aren’t so bad yourself.” A pause. “On occasion.” That last earned her a nip to her earlobe that sent a soft, delicious shock through her body.

 _What in the Maker’s name are we doing?_ This was madness. If they were discovered, Knight-Commander Meredith would strip Cullen of his place in the Order, if she didn’t execute him for being a traitor. And Anders.… Maker’s breath, what would Anders and Justice do if they caught her in compromising position with a Templar? They were flirting with disaster.

Hawke carded her fingers through Cullen’s short hair, delighting in the shiver that ran through him as her nails scraped ever so lightly against his skin, down the back of his neck, over his shoulders. A man as nicely put together as Cullen shouldn’t hide his assets behind unforgiving Templar armor. Surely, that had to be a crime. And being a good citizen of Kirkwall, it was her duty to discourage crime wherever she could.

“I need….” Cullen’s groaned, his cheek brushed against hers. “I need you.”

Hawke’s nails dug into Cullen’s back, as she leaned into him. His hand curled around the back of her neck, holding her still as he brought his mouth down on hers. He tasted of the sweet tang of forbidden fruit, the tickling spice of secret assignations, of the smooth bloom of the darkest shadows.

“Hawke?” Cullen’s lips brushed hers as he spoke, his breath caressed her skin. His brown eyes were dark. So dark.

When she reached out to trace his lips, he teased her fingertips with his tongue, and she swallowed hard, nodded. “I need you too.” 

**iv. Varric**

“It has been a real shit show lately.” Varric drained his cup of ale and glanced longingly at the flagon he’d left across the room on the table. When it didn’t magically sprout legs and walk over to him, he pushed himself up from the sofa, retrieved it, filled his mug and topped off Hawke’s before he sprawled back down.

her mother, his brother. It was worry about Kirkwall, about their friends, about blood mages and Templars running wild, about their own lives and fortunes.

“That’s an understatement.” Hawke rubbed at her forehead, as if the motion could scrub away the thoughts plaguing her. She and Varric had become rocks for the others to lean on, and she never felt that as acutely as she did when they both needed comfort at the same time.

“Sometimes I wish…” She shook her head, let the words trail off. This wasn’t the time to admit sometimes she wished the ogre took her in Ferelden instead of Bethany. That sometimes a quick death looked attractive when stacked against loss after loss after loss.

“Don’t.” Varric’s cup clattered to the floor as he slid off the couch, went to his knees next to Hawke. She wasn’t sure if he knew her that well, or if he heard some echo in her voice her recognized. His fingers curled around the back of her neck, gripped it, and shook her gently. “ _Don’t._ ”

Hawke didn’t have time to wonder if the warning was for her or for the both of them before he kissed her. She didn’t expect it, and maybe because it took her so completely off guard, it struck deeper, hitting at the hurt that haunted her. 

Varric’s kiss wasn’t artful. No, it was full of frantic, desperate need and tasted of the bitter ale he favored. Varric kissed like a man who’d nearly forgotten how, who’d nearly lost his way, who was standing at the precipice with one foot in the open air. She thought she must feel the same to him. 

When she cupped Varric’s cheek, Hawke felt wetness against her palm, and that unlocked her own tears. It made it okay to let down her armor and her guard. To be vulnerable. To cry. She ran her fingers through Varric’s hair to the back of his neck, where she stroked his skin. 

Hawke couldn’t tell how long they stayed like that, long enough for them to taste the others tears, long enough for the tears to slow and stop. When Varric finally broke the kiss, they rested their foreheads against each other, their breathing ragged. They stayed silent and still, except for Hawke stroking the back of Varric’s neck, until their breathing evened out.

“We’re…” Varric’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “We’re going to be okay, Hawke” There was determination in his voice. It sounded strong enough to stand against dragonfire.

“We’re going to be okay.” Varric relaxed as she echoed his words. “We are.” She tilted her head, and their cheeks rubbed against each other. “We have to be.”

**v. Anders**

The night breeze from the balcony was cool as it tickled across Hawke’s skin. Her fingers brushed her lips as if she could still feel Ander’s kiss burning against them. One hand ghostede down her body, over her breast, her nipple, over her stomach. Her eyes drifted closed. _How long will it take for me to drive you mad?_ She saw the fire her words kindled in Anders’ eyes before he moved, before he pulled her against him, tangled his fingers in her hair, and kissed her. He tasted of despair and desire, of determination and danger. 

Oh, yes, danger. 

Her fingers slipped between her legs, and she drew a shaky breath as she touched her clit. As her fingers moved, teasing and rubbing, she wondered how Anders would touch her. Would his healer’s touch gentle and coax, or would Justice ride him to conquer and claim? Then it would be her fingers gripping his hair when he replaced his fingers with his mouth. Hawke bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood. Would his mouth be as wicked as she imagined, as devasting as she craved? Hawke moaned, and her eyes blinked open when the sound echoed back from other lips. 

Anders’s body was strung tight, his hands curled into fists. He looked like he was trembling on the edge of control, barely leashing his need.

“The door.” He gestured behind him. “It wasn’t locked.”

“I know. I left it open for you.”

He nodded, then closed the distance between them. As his gaze moved over her body, he wet his lips and stroked the inside of her thigh before his fingers closed around her wrist. He raised her hand to his lips and slowly--oh, so slowly--he took each into his mouth to tongue and taste them.

“Anders…”

“Hmmm?” He turned her hand and pressed a kiss her palm. A wicked smile curved his lips. “I wonder….”

“Wonder?”

Anders knelt between her legs, encouraged her to drape one over his shoulder. I wonder how long it will take for me to drive you mad.” His voice was sin itself.

Hawke’s fingers tangled in Anders’s hair. “Why don’t we find out?”


End file.
